Page 157 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

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The estate workers and tenants came up to the Castle in the morning to receive their Christmas boxes and be served with mulled wine and mincemeat pies in the great hall. Rose had gone out of the back yard with some pastry crumbs to throw for the birds, when she saw Michael Woodrow coming by, presumably on his way home from the ceremony, as he had a package under his arm. He stopped when he saw her, and they looked at each other in silence for a moment. He looked tired, Rose thought, or perhaps sad, with lines she didn’t remember in his face. She felt . . . She didn’t know what, but it was not anger or dislike. It might be something like . . . Pity? Regret?

As the silence extended itself, she began to doubt that he would speak at all. It was a cold day, with a grey, heavy sky and a sharp, gusty breeze – not Christmas weather. There had been no snow yet, and with the wind not even any frost to make things pretty. It was a day to be indoors. He was bundled in a warm coat, but she had only slipped someone’s jacket over her grey morning uniform dress. If she didn’t want to freeze, she would have to get things started, or abandon them. And she discovered she wanted him to talk.

‘What did they give you?’ she asked.

‘I haven’t opened it. But I think it was gloves for the men and handkerchiefs for the women.’ He glanced at her hand. ‘Feeding the birds? I didn’t know you liked birds.’

She shrugged. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ She had spotted from the corner of her eye the little blur of wings as the robin flew down onto the top of the high wall that enclosed the yard. Now she heard his quiet, hopeful tweedling above and behind her. She yielded. ‘There’s a robin,’ she said. ‘He’s prac’ly tame.’ She turned her back on Woodrow and scattered the crumbs at a little distance, and the robin was down immediately, pecking. ‘They’re hungry this weather,’ she said defiantly, turning back.

He was smiling. ‘I think it’s lovely. You’re so tough and practical, but this proves you have a heart, too.’

‘Heart!’ she said, with a pff of disdain. But he went on smiling. ‘How’s your sister?’ she said roughly. She didn’t know how to do soft talk.

‘Just the same,’ he said, the smile disappearing. ‘They don’t think she’ll ever improve much.’ He chewed his lip, and then said, effortfully, ‘It was coming a long time. I should have realised.’ He shrugged. ‘Probably I couldn’t have done anything about it. But sometimes I think – p’r’aps I could have.’

She nodded, not knowing what to say, trying to convey sympathy. She didn’t blame him any more. People were the way they were. You couldn’t change them. It must be lonely for him, living in that house on his own. His sister had been company, even if she was difficult. ‘I heard you got someone to come in and clean,’ she said.

‘Molly Gale,’ he said. ‘Beattie’s sister. Younger sister. She cleans and cooks something for my dinner.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘She’s not much of a cook. Watery stew mostly. But, then, I’m not much of an eater, these days.’

Rose spoke briskly to cover her feelings. ‘No need for a stew to be watery. Easiest thing in the world to make tasty. You could shoot some rabbits or pigeons to go in it. There’s still mushrooms about. Herbs – I bet Mrs Gale’s got some in her garden. And potatoes’ll thicken it, if they’re cooked long enough.’

‘I bet you’d make a delicious stew,’ he said, smiling again.

‘Well, I would!’ she retorted. The breeze gusted, and she shivered. ‘I got to go in.’

He took a step closer. ‘Rose,’ he said, ‘couldn’t we start again? I miss you.’

‘You just want me to come and cook meals for you,’ she said suspiciously.

‘No! That’s not what I mean. Look, could we go for a walk, like we used to – just that? See how it goes. We used to talk and talk. I miss talking to you.’

She would have held out longer, but she was really cold. The wind was bitter. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘We’ll give it a try. No promises, mind.’

Now his smile was wide. ‘When’s your afternoon off?’

‘Thursday.’

‘I’ll come and call for you.’

‘No, I’ll come by your house. Three o’clock?’

‘Three o’clock. Thank you!’

‘Soft!’ she snorted, and hurried away. Her face and hand were frozen, but there was a queer warm spot somewhere in her stomach that had nothing to do with the temperature.

At the Castle, Christmas gifts between adults were exchanged after dinner, but Mr Cowling couldn’t wait. Before they went down to breakfast, he sent Tina away, took Nina’s hands, and smiled at her in such a particular way that she said, ‘Please don’t ask me to tell everyone our news. I’m not ready.’

‘No, no, it’s not that. I wanted to tell you about your Christmas present from me. It’s something I couldn’t wrap up.’

He seemed almost gleeful, so she said, ‘Tell me, then. Shall

I be excited?’

‘I hope so. Our next neighbour in Market Harborough, Utterby, is going through a bad patch, and he’s decided to sell some of his land. He’s got debts to pay off. So I’m buying the twenty acres adjoining our garden. It used to belong to Wriothesby House once upon a time, as Deering will tell you if you ask. It’s enough to make a proper park for the house. What do you think? It’s my Christmas present to you – and to celebrate the baby. I want him to grow up a proper gentleman, and to have everything a gentleman should have.’

‘You’ve decided to stay at Wriothesby House, then?’